Weighted Down
by Lady Knight of Kennan
Summary: Harry Potter, his sixth year over, tries to recover from the past years traumatic events, the unthinkable happens. But who has been killed? What is Harry's reaction to having the weight of the Wizarding World on his should?
1. Thinking

Trials and Tribulations: Chapter One  
  
Disclaimer: I don't won HP or any affiliates.  
  
A/N: this is a new type of story for me… so please R&R, and try and find a better title... I need a new one. TY every1!  
  
  
  
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Harry Potter, the defender of the Light Side of the Wizarding world and a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was trapped.  
  
Behind him, a crowd of people gathered, trying to fend off the Death Eaters from killing them all. When Harry turned around, he recognized the ones he could see. His best friend, Ron Weasley, was dueling with a menacing Death Eater. He looked to be holding his own with the man, but Harry could see his power was dwindling. He looked frantically at the other people in the crowd. He could make out his other best friend, and Ron's steady girlfriend, Hermione Granger. She was battling with her own death eater, a crowd of small children cowering behind her. She was a brilliant witch, and could hold off the one Death Eater easily. That wasn't what worried Harry at the moment. What worried him was the fact that there were three other Death Eaters heading towards the pair, their purpose clear: kill the witch, and the children. Harry knew she had no hope against four grown Death Eaters. He tried to call out to her, but his voice was lost in the confusion.  
  
He recognized many others in the crowd: several of his teachers at Hogwarts, and many of his friends. He couldn't help them. He seemed to be apart from the crowd. Try as he might, he was helpless, watching the hundred or so Death Eaters take out, slowly at first, then faster as they got the rush of death, the hundreds of people in the crowd at Harry's back. He could do nothing to stop them. He was helpless, his worst fear.  
  
When Harry could look no longer at the pain and horror he saw in the crowd, he turned and faced what was keeping him still. The Dark Lord. Voldemort.  
  
Suddenly, Harry could move again. He also had his wand back in his hand. Where and when he had lost it he had no idea, but it didn't matter now.  
  
As he took a quick look at his surroundings, he concluded that he had absolutely no clue where they were battling, and that it didn't matter. He quickly turned and faced the Dark Lord, the root of all the world's troubles in the past fifty years.  
  
"Sso, Harry," the Dark Lord hissed out his snake like mouth. Harry repulsed at the look of that mouth, and the gleaming red eyes above it. "We meet again." The Dark Lord continued, circling Harry like he was a present he couldn't wait to rip open. "I trust you had a nice, peaceful few years since I last saw you." Voldemort threw back his head and laughed evilly. Harry gave an involuntary shudder listening to the terrifying sound. It gave him the feeling of nails screeching down a chalkboard, only a thousand times worse.  
  
Harry gripped his wand tightly in his hand, resolving to teach Voldemort a lesson in the dealings with wizards from the Light Side, even if it killed him. He would not play that stupid little game that Voldemort had tried to get him to play years ago, when he had first risen back to power. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.  
  
He raised his wand deftly, and ran towards the Dark Lord, screaming the nastiest curse he could think of. Voldemort suddenly stopped laughing, and raised his own wand, pointing it straight at Harry's heart.  
  
Harry's curses did no good. They were simply absorbed by the powerful wizard. Harry didn't care. He was crazy with anger, fear, and hate towards the Dark Lord. He raised his wand to try a final attempt, at the same time that Voldemort raised his.  
  
/Stupify!/ Harry shouted, just as the Dark Lord shouted his own famous curse.  
  
/Avada Kadavra!/ There was a jet of green light screaming towards Harry, as a jet of blue light flew towards Lord Voldemort.  
  
Time seemed to slow to an impossible rate, and Harry saw the jet of deadly looking green light slowly advance on him. His thoughts moving at the normal speed, Harry instantly thought of that last duel with the Dark Lord, where his wand had performed the strange ritual of /Priori Incantatem/, when two brother wands dueled. He knew what would happen again.  
  
Much to his surprise, the bolt of green light hit his own blue, and bounced it off, advancing still on Harry. Harry had no idea what had happened, but prepared himself for the worst. He closed his eyes, and time returned to normal, he heard the swish of death upon him, and the rest of the sounds faded. There was only that light, screaming faster and faster towards Harry.  
  
The light hit, and Harry fell…  
  
  
  
…Out of bed. He wrestled wildly with his covers, and finally untangled himself. He looked quickly around the room. He was used to the constant throbbing of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and ignored it now. He swiftly checked every corner of his room on Privet Drive, making sure nothing lurked in the shadows. When his fears of the darkness were assuaged, he sat back down on the bed, breathing hard, and trying to remember his dream.  
  
It had not been a vision this time, simply a nightmare. He had them more and more recently. It was always the same. He, Harry, not being able to help the ones he loved, being forced to watch them die before his eyes, and then being killed by the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. Harry shuddered at the memory, and went to his open window to let the cool summer breeze ease his troubled mind.  
  
He stood at his windowsill, starring out into the calm, quiet night of Privet Dive. His mind wandered to the days gone by; when life was simpler, and he didn't have to worry about the greatest Dark wizard in centuries coming to kill him. His thoughts dropped into one memory, the summer before second year, when Ron had illegally flown his magical car here to come and save him from the Dursley's. He smiled at the thought. They had been so young and ignorant then. He wished with all his being that he could go back and be young again; not have this constant weight on his shoulders, the weight of the entire wizarding world.  
  
His thoughts drifted again. He thought of the horrors that had taken place over that last few years at Hogwarts. His fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament, betrayal of the supposed Mad-Eye Moody, and the Dark Lord's initial return. So much had happened since then, it seemed.  
  
His fifth year, he thought, had been the toughest. Getting used to the heightened security around the castle, the daily reports of the killings that happened outside the grounds of the school. Being helpless, yet again, to stop it all. The fifth year students had barely had time to worry about their NEWTS, perhaps that was why they had all done so badly at them. All except Hermione that was. She had done fantastic. But it hadn't really mattered, had it?  
  
The news had come at the end of the year that Azkaban had been released of the Dementors. Every person that had been imprisoned there had been released, and joined with the Dark Lord, along with the Dementors. That had been the year that the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had been murdered in his home. He had never had the chance to agree with Dumbledore, and Harry wondered often if he ever would have.  
  
News came daily, in those last few months of the school year, of attacks on wizards and muggles alike. Five students total were called into Dumbledore's office to hear the disastrous news: their houses had been attacked, or their family was gone, courtesy of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  
  
Harry sighed. That year, nothing had happened directly to the school, but when all of the students went home, Harry suspected they had lived in fear of being attacked during the summer holidays. Nobody was safe. Miraculously, everyone came back to the school for Harry's sixth year, the worst year of them all.  
  
The classes were a joke; no one paid any attention, and even the teachers' hearts weren't in it. Everyone was worried about their family at home. Hermione, Harry and Ron had spent the year to themselves, trying to boost their confidence and hope that their homes would still be there when they got back. Harry remembered the train ride to King's Cross vividly. Too vividly, for his comfort.  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione had been in the prefects' car, eating sweets, and talking about such inconsequential matters. They had heard the screams even from there. When they had rushed into the hall, they could see everything. The Death Eaters, attacking students left and right, the screaming, the running, and the gigantic boom that had ended it all. The crash. And then the Dark Lord.  
  
Harry had felt him getting closer with every fresh wave of pain in his scar. He had stupefied as many Death Eaters as he could see, but they just kept coming. And then He descended. He walked down the hall from the back of the train, his cloak, the color of the deepest night, swishing around him. Harry could see it in his mind's eye. He came down the corridor, with his eyes on only one person on the train. Harry Potter.  
  
Harry had screamed at Ron and Hermione to run, but they wouldn't. They would never abandon him, they had said. As the Dark Lord got closer, the children on the train drew back into their compartments, terrified of the power billowing around Voldemort. Harry watched him come, knowing the inevitable was about to take place, and worried only for the others on the train. His scar had sent wave after wave of pain to his head, and Harry ignored it. He looked only at the Dark Lord, approaching slowly down the train, deliberately.  
  
He remembered also, yelling at the others on the train to get away, run. Most of them hadn't needed to been told twice. They smashed the windows, and escaped through them, ignored by the Death Eaters, whose attention had been fixed on Harry and their Lord.  
  
Harry had managed to get Hermione and Ron to stay in the compartment, but they wouldn't leave, they had told him. Harry watched as Voldemort advanced, watched, and waited.  
  
He hadn't had long to wait. The Dark Lord advanced, and Harry glimpsed the Death Eaters advance behind him. Harry remembered feeling absolute terror at those eyes, which had not changed since the powerful Dark wizard had dueled with him at the end of his fourth year.  
  
Harry trembled and gripped his windowsill at the memory. He closed his eyes, urging the tears that were welling there not to come. He had promised himself once that he would not cry. With the events in the past few months, that promise had been very hard to keep. He wished he could forget it all, but he knew that was impossible. He would have to deal with this, as he dealt with everything else in his life. As Ron had so eloquently pointed out in his fourth year: everything always happened to him. Ron had eventually come to understand that Harry had no control over that, and he knew Harry hated it. All of his friends knew that now.  
  
He stared into the night, willing the thoughts not to come to him, trying to forget the memories of that one train ride, if only for a few moments. As he watched the sky turn from deep black to pre-morning grey, he saw a shape start to form a ways away, flying steadily towards Privet Drive. Harry knew at once what it was, but continued to stay at the window. He waited patiently for the object to come to him.  
  
Minutes later, Hedwig was soaring through Harry's window, a small mouse in her beak. Harry held out his arm for her, and she grasped it and held with her talons. He set her gently on her perch, petting her and crooning softly what a good owl she was.  
  
When Hedwig was settled, Harry turned back to his bed, and saw his summer calendar hanging on the wall, the one he used to count down the days until school started every year. There were X's on every day up to July 29th. Harry sighed. Tomorrow would be his birthday. His 17th. What friends he had left would all send him gifts, and no one would know what to say or write to comfort him. It had happened the summer of his fourth year, after that first attack form Voldemort. Ron and Hermione had sent presents with no letters, not knowing if he was ready to talk yet. Harry couldn't blame them. Sirius had tried, at least. He had written Harry a letter telling him to stay strong and not be scared. Harry had sighed, and wondered if anyone in the world could know what he was going through or how he was feeling. He had known that one person would always know how Harry felt, and would always try to comfort him, and be there like a father. But that person was gone now, and Harry didn't want to think about that.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his friends' respect, or his godfather's attempts to cheer him; he loved them all for it. But they didn't, and wouldn't ever, understand what Harry was going through all the time. The weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders, the publicity, the attacks. Harry often thought that maybe it would have all been better if Voldemort had killed him that night, so long ago, along with his parents. So many people would not have had to suffer… So many need not have died…  
  
A groan of floorboards interrupted Harry's thoughts. He sat up immediately, looking at his closed door, listening hard. He knew that there were charms on this house, but he had no idea if they had been connected to his protector, and now that he was gone?  
  
Harry stopped thinking about it, and rose from the bed. He crept to the door; silent, listening to the floorboards creak as someone went up-or was it down?- the stairs. When he reached the door, he opened it just as quietly, to peak out of a small sliver of space. He could see nothing, but Harry didn't trust that. He opened the door a bit more, and heaved a collective sigh.  
  
Dudley. Dudley was creping down the stairs, trying desperately not to be heard. Harry shook his head, and looked down at his watch.  
  
5: 53.  
  
Dudley was trying to get food. The only reason he would ever get up this early would be to sneak food while his parents were asleep. They had kept their word to his school nurse and her diet when Dudley had lost 20 pounds on it that first summer. The boy was a bit slimmer now, two summers later, but still no pixie. Harry turned away, and went back into his room. He wouldn't bother Dudley now. Let the sorry pudge eat what he wanted.  
  
All hopes of sleep now were gone. He went to his trunk in the corner of the room and opened it, getting out a pair of jeans and a faded green shirt that he had bought had Hogsmeade one year. He dressed quickly, not knowing what he was looking forward to.  
  
The Dursleys had not warmed up to him in any sense in the past few years. They certainly had showed their disgust at an almost-full-grown 'freak' in their household, and missed no opportunity to hint that fact at Harry. Harry ignored them, and, for the most part, they lent him the same courtesy.  
  
Harry had also noticed a general change in the last few summers. If he hadn't known better, Harry would have guessed that his Aunt and Uncle were worried, but about what, Harry had no idea. They most certainly could not know about the Wizarding World's past few years of terror, or the horrendous crimes that the Dark Lord committed towards muggles daily.  
  
No, Harry was sure it was about something smaller than what he had to worry about, probably problems with Dudley at his school. Harry was certainly sure that they hadn't heard about the train crash, and the atrocious murder of the Light Side's most powerful wizard… Harry closed his eyes, not wanting those particular memories to come any closer. They refused.  
  
  
  
Harry shook his head. He had had enough of these depressing thoughts. He got up from the bed with a small creak and headed downstairs to get something to eat, not caring how early it was. Maybe he would get lucky, and not have to try and behave civilly towards his 'family' over breakfast.  
  
And so began Harry Potter's day. 


	2. De-Weeding and Nighttime Visitors

Weighted Down  
  
Chapter Two: Morning  
  
Disclaimer: all characters belong to the ever wonderful JKR, who better hurry with #5, or she's going to loose serious ground to fanfictions everywhere, but anyways, on with the story.  
  
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Harry got breakfast quickly, ignoring his cousin, who sat at the kitchen table eating leftover pancakes from a box that had been in the freezer. The Dursleys had finally realized that real food was needed in the house, because his aunt and uncle couldn't function on a diet like Dudley's. Uncle Vernon had also complained loudly that he didn't need it, and a huge row had erupted, with his Uncle the victor.  
  
Harry stayed out of these affairs. He knew that if he always got up early enough, he could find some food in the house, and he usually did.  
  
So this particular morning was no different. Harry found some whole-wheat cereal in the cupboard and the carton of milk and made himself a bowl. He debated whether to sit at the table and eat with his cousin or go up to his room and eat, but his answer came when Dudley heaved himself off his chair and walked back up the stairs, leaving his mess at the table. Harry shook his head.  
  
He sat down, trying to eat without thinking. It was always easier to become automatic when things happened, he had found, and with the past few week's occurrences, Harry tried very hard not to think too much. It brought too much pain, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.  
  
His non-thoughts were interrupted when a large tawny owl fluttered through an open window in the kitchen. It carried a paper tied to its leg, and Harry sighed. He'd been subscribed to the Daily Profit since the summer after fourth year, sick of finding out information from others about the wizarding world.  
  
The owl dropped the paper in front of Harry, and waited patiently while the boy dug through his pockets to find some change to give it. When it was satisfied, it took off again through the window, and Harry was left sitting and staring at his rolled up paper. He wasn't sure if he wanted to read it.  
  
The Profit had done a brief article on the train crash back from Hogwarts, and the Death Eaters' appearance, but it had not gone into detail. Harry didn't know what the rest of the wizarding world thought about the tragedy, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.  
  
As he opened July 30th's paper, Harry gasped. Here it was: they had finally gotten real wind of what had happened. He stared at the pictures, the ministry wizards moving around the ruble that had been a train, trying to find survivors. Most students had fled out the windows, but some had not been so lucky. Another picture held the current Minister of Magic, Darius Zoroaster, the previous head of the Unspeakables Department, giving a statement.  
  
The last picture was what made Harry shudder. It was a picture of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, completely covered in black cloth. It looked like it had on the last day of term in Harry's fourth year, when Dumbledore had claimed mourning for Cedric Diggory. He could make out the teachers seated at the staff table in a horrible state.  
  
Professor McGonagall seemed to be yelling at whoever had taken the picture, because though Harry could not hear her, he knew that face. Professor Snape glared up at him, looking furious and sad at the same time. The teachers at the staff table sat silently, most staring at that one empty chair.  
  
It will always be empty now, thought Harry morosely. He didn't feel like reading the rest of the article. It was already clear that the whole of the wizarding world now knew that the greatest Wizard ever alive was gone forever. He folded up the paper, and took it back to his room. As he climbed the stairs, he could hear his aunt and uncle start to stir, and hurried to get inside his own small room before they found something to yell at him for.  
  
When he entered his room, he barely had time to register a small ball of fluff zinging around his room when he was hit smack in the head by it. As he raised his head, rubbing the spot the small owl had hit, he couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Pig, don't you ever settle down?" he asked the over-hyper minute owl that was still fluttering around the ceiling fan. Ron's small pet had not changed much in the years. Harry laughed, before ordering the bird down so that he could catch the note that was folded and tied to it's leg. When he finally caught Pig and got his letter, the owl hooted happily, and went to bother Hedwig, who was staring indignantly out of her cage. Harry ignored the owls and looked at his letter.  
  
Harry,  
  
I know you probably don't want to talk right now, but mum told me to tell you that you're always welcome at the Burrow. Hermione's here now, and we were wondering if you might want to join us. Do you still need permission? I don't know, but you can come if you want, it's up to you. Well, we've enclosed your birthday presents with the package, but your not open them until tomorrow! Have a happy summer, and send your reply with Pig.  
  
Ron  
  
PS. Hiya Harry! This is Herm here, Ron wouldn't let me write, but I stole the letter from him. Anyways, I hope you're doing alright. Just remember Harry, all of this really was not your fault, and I hope that you don't blame yourself. Keep your head up, and everything will turn out fine. It always does.  
  
Lots of love,  
  
Hermione  
  
Harry sighed after reading the letter. His friends knew him too well. He wondered for a moment about the package Ron had mentioned, but a hoot from his window made him turn.  
  
There was another owl, this one a large eagle owl, which had just landed on his windowsill with a large package attached to his leg. It was Hermione's owl, Babylon. Harry laughed, assuming that Pig had flown too fast for this poor one to keep up. He went to the windowsill and relieved the owl of his burden.  
  
It was oddly shaped, with points sticking out at peculiar angles. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, with Harry scrawled in Ron's messy handwriting on the top. In Hermione's neat script, Harry could read Happy Birthday on a side.  
  
Harry was glad that he had friends that still accepted him. He was also happy that they had not just sent gifts, but the letter also. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling to think that Ron and Hermione still wanted to talk to him, even after all that had happened.  
  
He set aside the package, obediently waiting until tomorrow to open it. But now, what would he do with the rest of the day?  
  
He sighed, and got out his parchment and quill, and A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. He had a very nasty (two foot long) essay for Professor Binns to finish on the goblin wars of the fifteenth century. It was one of the last homework assignments that had yet to be finished. Harry had spent much time on his holiday assignments, in hopes of diverting his attention from thoughts about the accident. It didn't work very well.  
  
But Harry sat down at his desk, nonetheless, and began to compose his essay. The goblin wars were quite complicated, and he was soon immersed in his textbook, looking for information and trying to summarize the words without sounding like he was copying.  
  
When he was finished the parchment was almost two and a half feet long, and it was late in the morning. Harry sat back, happy with himself. He had wasted a whole morning on schoolwork, without thinking too much on the Wizarding World's crises.  
  
But now that his brain was unoccupied, thoughts rushed back to him. Images, and sounds he wanted nothing else than to be rid of. With a disgusted sigh, Harry shoved his chair away form his desk and headed out of his room and downstairs. He needed a few chores to do, and Aunt Petunia was always good at finding him work.  
  
  
  
An hour later, Harry could be found in the back garden, pulling weeds out of his aunt's petunias. She seemed to like those flowers for some reason, and had planted them throughout most of the back yard, and some of the front.  
  
Harry worked endlessly, pulling some nasty looking weeds with thorns, and a few patches of really annoying grass that had spread throughout the dirt. Why would anyone in their right minds want to keep a garden this neat and orderly? Harry asked himself, yanking hard on more grassy stuff.  
  
Its better than de-gnoming, isn't it? another part asked. Harry laughed slightly. He remembered vividly that last time he and Ron and his brothers had tried to de-gnome the garden at the Burrow. Picking weeds was defiantly better than getting your finger half bitten off by a dizzy little furry creature. With that in mind, he returned to the task of de-weeding his aunt's back yard, and got lost in his own memories of a simpler life than the one he led now.  
  
By the time the garden had been de-weeded, as Harry had come to calling it, and looking orderly and fresh again, it was near dusk, and he had worked up a sweat. He felt sticky, and slightly gross in dirty jeans and his now disgusting green shirt. Oh well, he thought. He'd just wash it when Aunt Petunia was out.  
  
He had a very even tan, from hours spent at Ron's playing Quidditch in the summer heat. He looked exceptionally different from the gangly, slightly nerdy, (though he would never admit it) eleven-year-old he had been one time. His arms and chest were muscled enough that he could pull weeds with ease, but he didn't think he could win any matches, especially against Ron. Ron had become quite the cheeky dude, and Harry had overheard some of the girls in other years at Hogwarts giggle and call Ronald a 'dish'. The thought had made Harry almost die laughing at the time.  
  
He had also grown every summer since his fourth year. Currently he was five foot eleven, and, while he was no where near Ron, (Six foot three! The tallest of the Weasley lot) he was taller than most of the boys, and girls, in his year. Hermione complained now that she had to break her neck to look at both of them. The poor girl had stopped growing at five three. Harry and Ron teased her relentlessly about her height, among many other things.  
  
Harry laughed gently at his train of thoughts, and trudged back into the house, prepared to take a shower, and find something to entertain his mind until his relatives went to sleep, and he could sneak downstairs and find some food that Dudley hadn't wolfed down. The Dursleys never seemed to notice that their food disappeared very fast in the summer, but Harry assumed they thought it was their poor, ickle, Dudleykins, only getting a few snacks now and again.  
  
Harry walked in the backdoor from the garden, careful not to get any of the dirt and sweat that clung to him on his aunt's clean floor. She was always angry when he got dirt, or anything for that matter, on things that she had recently cleaned. Harry was just glad that she never cleaned his room. She would go nuts with all the stuff he had up there from day to day.  
  
As he trudged up the stairs, thinking longingly of the shower, and getting the stickiness off of everything, he noticed how quiet the house seemed. Indeed, it sounded as if no one was home. His aunt was usually listening to the radio while she cleaned, and Dudley either had the TV or the Nintendo on high all the time.  
  
But both of those sounds were missing at the moment, and Harry wondered idly why. He wasn't complaining; without the Dursleys here he could get what he wanted from the kitchen, take as long as he wanted in the shower, and perhaps, if he was lucky, even get to watch something on TV for once this summer. It sounded promising, but he was still wondering where they were.  
  
His questions were answered when he arrived at his door. A small note, in his aunt's scrawny handwriting said that she and Dudley had gone out, and would be back by after supper. He smiled. This wouldn't be so bad after all.  
  
A few hours later found Harry sitting in front of the living room's TV, very clean and his stomach full, laughing at a sitcom on the tele. It was about this weird muggle family, who tried to do things together, and always ended up having a fight, or breaking something, but managed to always fix any situation in the one half hour that the show lasted. Harry, having not had many opportunities to watch television of any kind as a child, found it hilarious.  
  
He was just getting ready to shut off the TV, when he suddenly heard distinct voices from the front of the house. He stopped, letting the commercial's blaring comments cover his footsteps to the front door. The voices were defiantly there, and Harry quickly pulled out his wand, spells of banishing and defense already swarming to the front of his mind. He crouched behind the front door, listening intently.  
  
The voices seemed rushed- panicked almost -about something. He tried to hear the words, but there were too many different voices out there to get anything clear. As many as their seemed to be on the other side of the door, Harry couldn't help but feel that he knew, or should know, some of those voices. That frightened him more than anything, and he got ready to blast the door to surprise any attackers first before he distinctly heard a now very familiar voice shout,  
  
"OH, SOD OFF IT! Harry!" was heard, accompanied by banging on the door.  
  
Harry sagged for a moment, realizing who it was, before unlocking the door with a flourish, and throwing it open.  
  
A small portion of the Weasley family stood on his front porch, flaming red hair covered in hats, all dressed in muggle clothing, surprisingly well, on Mr. Weasley's part, Harry noted.  
  
But that wasn't the issue at the moment.  
  
"What are you all doing here?" Harry asked quickly, before Ron could take his hand down from where he had been pounding on the door, looking sheepish.  
  
But Mr. Weasley seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind than small talk, and Harry noted as he started forward that all of the children present, Ron, Ginny, and the twins, had similar looks of misery and an urgency just contained.  
  
"There's no time to talk, Harry," Mr. Weasley said quickly, drawing Harry out of the house. "We need you to some with us, quickly."  
  
"Wait, what about the Dursleys? And what is this about?" Harry was starting to get worried. What if this was some trick. Instincts told him to be careful.  
  
"Harry," Ginny said seriously, all traces of the usual fun and cheerfulness Harry saw in her beautiful face gone. Harry knew something was very wrong. Ginny's normal twinkling eyes that Harry had always loved about her were grave.  
  
"It's about Hermione, and its bad." 


	3. St Mungo's

Weighted Down

Chapter Three: Visits

Disclaimer:  I don't own anything, except, possible, the idea.  And probably not even that.   All names and affiliations with HP and Co. belong to that goddess of literature JK Rowling.  Thanx all!

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Hermione and Ginny had always gotten along, despite their age differences.  They were good friends, even during the school year at Hogwarts.   That Ginny could be so worried about one of her close friends said worlds to Harry, and he had hurried into the car without further misgivings and only one small pause to write the Dursley's his own hurried note. 

The Weasleys had taken him to a small wizarding village, Mr. Weasley driving a black sedan, Harry assumed had been borrowed from the Ministry.  He drove fast, with no regards for speed limits of traffic officers, who took no notice whatsoever of the car full of redheads.  Harry suspected that was on purpose, but said nothing to anyone.  Ginny's words still weighed heavily on his mind. No one had said anything else to him since her statement, only given him sad looks, filled with pain.  That scared Harry.  The Weasleys were a strong family; times in the past few years had proven that.  But to scare them as badly as they seemed, it had to be bad.  Harry worried for his best friend.  Hermione was muggle born, and a fierce target of the Dark Lord.  

The silence in the car eventually got to be suffocating, but Harry dreaded breaking it.  Consequently, he was greatly relieved when Fred, sitting in front with his father and George, spoke at last.

"We're almost there guys."  

All eyes turned towards the windows, and Harry could make out in the darkness a large building, with large red lettering on the front.  

**St. Mungo's Hospital**

For 

**Magical Maladies and Injuries**

He shivered.  He had been here only one time before, quite recently, in fact, and he had desperately wanted never to repeat the experience.  But that this hospital had something to do with Hermione and the word 'bad' Harry would have faced a thousand hospital visits just to get to her.  She was a best friend, one third of Hogwarts' famous 'Trio' that everyone at school affectionately called himself, Ron, and Hermione.

_Oh Ron_, his mind thought wretchedly.  What must he be going through?   He looked sideways at his other best friend, who had always been there for him.  He was in bad shape.  His face was pale in the near darkness, but Harry thought that had very little to do with the light outside. Ron had on his look that he had when he was trying hard not to show anything.  He was horrible at that look.  He always had been, and Harry was able to tell easily that he was frightened, and hurt. 

Harry looked back at the building as the silent group came closer.  It was plain, with brick walls, and shutters on the many windows.  They were all closed.  He supposed this was because it was night, and slightly chilly, but this strange fact still gave Harry a chill. 

The group stepped on the threshold of the doorway, and walked into the hospital together.  

A woman in a nurses' uniform was sitting at a small desk in a white room, but it otherwise it was empty.  Chairs and small tables dotted here and there, with magazines like _Witch's Weekly_, and _Gardening: For the Average Witch_ adorning the tables.  Harry thought these were very bad titles to be scattered in a hospital, but he soon forgot the magazines when Mr. Weasley reached the Nurse's Desk.

"I'm looking for the Disaster Ward?" he told the woman, questioning.  Harry stomach lurched at the word 'disaster'.  What had happened to Hermione? 

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse told him, her face passive.  She shook her small red head before continuing. "Visiting hours are from eight to five.  It's ten-thirty."  She looked pitifully at the rest of them, her eyes searching out each face.  

Mr. Weasley was about to say more, his face showing his rising temper, and his ears turning quite pink, when the nurse let out a startled squeak.  She had reached Harry's face.  

Harry himself held her gaze steadily.  He was used to people staring.  

Sure enough, the nurse did the routine sweep of Harry's forehead to his legacy: the lightning bolt scar, tribute of the Dark Lord Voldemort.  Harry was temped to roll his eyes, but something told him this would not help their situation. 

Indeed, his calm stare paid off. The nurse looked back at Mr. Weasley, new understanding in her hazel eyes. "You can go.  Please, don't ask any other nurses for directions, they'll kick you out, but if you look like you know where your going, they wont ask any questions." She glanced back at Harry for a moment, who wondered at this turn of events. "The Disaster Ward is three halls down this way," she pointed to her right, "and the last left before the dead end of that hallway."  

Mr. Weasley hesitated, before muttering a small "thank you very much" and leading the boys on.  Harry tried to meet the nurse's eyes once again, but she was already looking at her paperwork, avoiding all gazes.  He hurried to follow the Weasleys, thinking hard. 

"Looks like your being famous is good for something, eh mate?" muttered George, but his face was grim all the same.  The pathetic attempt at the joke however, made Harry's face hover with a small smile, before returning to thoughts about Hermione. 

He didn't have to think long enough for his mind to present him with the reason for Hermione's placement in 'Disaster Ward'.  The only disasters these days were attacks of Voldemort and his legendary Death Eaters. 

Lord Voldemort was at full power, and produced muggle raids routinely since the accident at the Hogwarts Express.  So far, wards had been strong enough around Hermione's house that he hadn't been able to enter.  Dumbledore had placed wards on every muggleborn's home that attended Hogwarts, but Hermione's had been extraordinarily protected.  Dumbledore had told them that it was because she was a brilliant witch who had repeatedly insulted sons of Death Eaters, but Harry, and both Ron and Hermione, though they never spoke of it, knew it was because she was associated with him, Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, and therefore, a juicy target for the Dark Lord to get his hands on.  All of his friends were in danger because they were associated with him.  Thoughts of Dumbledore's protections jarred Harry's stomach painfully, and he tried to think only of his friend.  

Harry desperately prayed that everything would be all right, that Hermione had been able to escape, but his relative mind told him that not many survived an attack of the Dark Lord.  

They walked quickly, following the nurse's instructions, meeting no one else in the deserted corridors.  Harry was soon lost.  The hospital was very large; magically enhanced to be bigger than was possible from the look of the outside of the building.  

All too soon, for Harry anyway, they reached a hallway with automatic doors separating it from the rest of the hospital.  The six of them stepped on the threshold, and stopped.  The door was magicked to analyze everyone who entered, deciding for itself if the persons intended any harm to the occupants of the ward.  It apparently decided that they were all right, and opened to admit them.  Harry paused, unable to move for a moment, the memories of this place flooding back to him to crash into his unwelcoming skull.  Overwhelmed, his did not notice that Ron softly called his name.  He did jump when his friend jerked his arm harshly.  Harry sent a grateful look to Ron, before hurrying to get past the door.  He shook his head to get the memories out, but they refused to leave.  He settled for them receding to the back of his mind, an ever present reminder of his days spent here not so long ago.  

It was a long dark corridor, lined with beds dressed in white, pale green sheets separating the beds in between.  Harry could just make out through the dimness shapes of people in the beds, some larger than Harry, and some that looked like small children.  That thought made Harry sadder than before, that young kids who were innocents in this war were feeling the pains of the devastation.  He walked forward with the Weasley's trying not to think or look around at any of the other beds.

Mr. Weasley seemed to know where he was going, even if the rest of them did not.  He led the group to the back of the ward, and Harry quailed.  This was where the worst cases were held, with their own room bed.  It was a morbid thought that the critical patients got the best facilities, but that was furthest from Harry's head at the moment.  It was a great effort to get his legs to carry his to follow the Weasleys, but he made them do the chore.  He would be at his best friend's side, through anything. 

Arthur led them into a small room, opening the door with the slightest squeak.  Harry winced nonetheless.  He didn't want to get caught in here any more than the rest of them did.  They walked into the white washed room, Ginny coming in last, shutting the door silently behind her.  

Harry blanched when he saw the bed in the small hospital room.  It was dark, with the lights out, but he could make out tubes and wires going to and from the small patient on the bed.  Someone, Harry couldn't see who, lit their wand, and Harry gasped roughly.  

Hermione.  

She was hardly recognizable in the soft light, her face almost completely blue or black form bruising.  She had scratches up and down her arms that added crimson to the indigo skin.  She clutching the green covers of the bed tightly, hiding the rest of her form view, but Harry was willing to bet the rest was as bad as her face and arms.  

Ron was the first to move, letting out a small sob and rushing towards her.  He went to her left side and immediately took her hand, holding it close to his chest. Harry could make out tears coursing down his friend's cheeks and felt his own eyes sting at the sight. 

 Harry followed slowly, going to her other side.  He brushed her hair away from her eyes, smoothing it around her.  Its bushiness had died down since they were kids, becoming simply curly.  Now it was tangled, a mess of knots and rats' nests, shaved in one section, revealing a nasty cut on the side of her head.  

It was Harry's turn to let out a sob.  His brilliant, strong, defiant friend looked so –sad- lying in the drab hospital bed.  She was paler than death, and Harry found himself wanting her to just move, so he would know she wasn't really just a figment of his imagination, some other nightmare he couldn't seem to wake from. 

A new emotion suddenly swarmed through him at that moment. Anger. Completely heated and rushing, bubbling anger swelled into him, through him, and he let it.  

A thought tingled at the back of him muddled mind, slowly making its way to the front.  He let it come, watching his poor friend while he waited.  Finally, it made its way there.  

He has to pay.  Voldemort had gone too far this time.  The Death Eaters had deliberately attacked his friend, knowing he would be angered beyond all reason when, _if,_ his friend died.  He and his followers would pay, if it was the last thing Harry Potter did in his life.  He knew it with all of his being at that moment.  

It took some time to calm the emotions flowing through him, but he looked at Ron when he had control.  When his friend looked back at him, He understood it.  Ron and Hermione had been dating since the summer before sixth year, and Harry had watched as they came to really love each other.  Every moment spent with one another was pure joy, and Harry could not help but feel happy for both of them.  He himself knew how they felt.  He cast a small glance at Ginny.  She looked much like her brother.  But Harry knew, if she was ever in trouble, or in a situation deemed 'bad', he would be madder than a puff adder in a rainstorm. He could sympathize with Ron's emotions, and even felt some of them himself.  He glanced at Hermione's still form, then back at his best friend, eyes challenging. 

Ron matched him glare for glare, and through their gazes an understanding past. They would not let the Dark Lord get away with this.  Both of them would kill him, if it took all they had. Harry gave a slight nod, and looked back to Hermione before Ron could reply.  The promise had been made.  It made no difference if no words had been spoken.  

Hours past before anything else happened, but both Harry and Ron were still by their friend's side, (the others had left the room to wander the hospital hours ago) each staring as if their gazes would penetrate the unconsciousness in her.

Eventually, it paid off.  She stirred.

Harry and Ron both sat up straighter, and looked hopefully at the girl on the bed.  She stirred again, and her eyes moved slightly.

Harry and Ron shared and excited gaze, but said nothing, and looked quickly back to Hermione, anxious to miss any movement.  

She blinked, slowly at first, then rapidly, as if trying with all her might to open her eyes. 

She finally succeeded.  Her chocolate gaze first saw Ron, and a small smile crossed Hermione's futures.  Ron produced a brilliant grin back, and kissed the hand he still hold gently.  

"Morning, love," he whispered.  Hermione's smile got a scant bit bigger.

"Ron," she whispered, joy and hope brimming in one word.

Harry grinned broadly, shifting slightly.  She was going to be okay!  

The movement caught Hermione's attention, and she turned her head slightly, with a small wince, to look at Harry.  

"Hey Mio," he said with a grin, using his nickname for her she despised. She grinned as well, and closed her eyes.  

"Hi, guys," she whispered, the smile on her lips increasing with ever second.  "Glad…you're…here," where the last words she said, before slipping back into sleep, the smile still there. 

Ron and Harry shared a gaze of pure joy.  Their friend would make it! She _had _to!

"What are you doing in here?" rang out a sharp voice.  Both Harry and Ron jumped a few inches into the air, Harry managing to draw his wand in the blink of an eye to point at the speaker.  It was a lesson he'd perfected over the years, with good reason.

Harry, not taking his gaze off the surprised doctor that had entered the room, saw Ron with his own wand out, and grinned in spite of the situation.  The young male doctor who had opened to door looked shocked at two young men in his patients room, both with wands pointed at him directly.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated, his voice raised and panicked now.  Shouts and scrambling could be heard from the rest of the hall, and Harry knew they had been caught.  

Two female nurses rushed in behind the doctor, who still held stock still, and gaped at the pair of wizards with drawn wands.  

The doctor and nurse stared slack jawed at the duo. Harry couldn't help but grin even broader.  It was then that the doctor did the all-too-familiar sweep of Harry himself: the jet-black hair, emerald eyes, and lightning bolt scar.  

"You're Harry Potter!" he said amazingly, pointing his finger at Harry.  

This time, Harry really did roll his eyes.  "Really?" he asked the man sarcastically.  "I forgot. Thanks ever so much for reminding me!" 

Ron gave him a devious grin, and subtly covered a laugh with a cough.  Harry didn't really care. He had given up being nice a long time ago, and his policy was that if people were going to be stupid around him, he might as well have fun with them. 

"Of course he is, you twit," Harry heard one of the nurses behind the doctor exclaim.  "the question is, what is Harry Potter doing in the hospital this early in the morning, _before_ hospital regulated visiting hours." She looked sternly at Harry and Ron for a moment, briefly reminding him of Professor McGonagall, before looking at the clipboard she held in her hand.  It was then that her face softened.  "I see." She nodded, and continued, with a glint in her eye that hid mischief. Harry couldn't help, with a small twang of guilt in his stomach, of Dumbledore and his twinkling eyes.  He shoved that thought out of his mind, concentrating on the situation at hand. 

The nurse was a nice looking woman, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked at the three for a moment. Her calm, intelligent gaze took in the way Harry and Ron stood protectively in front of their friend.  She looked at the doctor and other nurse beside her, and murmured something that Harry didn't catch.  He glanced at Ron for a moment, and the look on his friend's face told him Ron had no idea what was going on either.  Harry shrugged and turned back to the three in front of them, who had then stopped talking.

The doctor, looking sheepish, began.  "The hospital staff has reviewed it, and we have decided that you may keep the patient, Miss Granger, company for the duration of her stay here.  We do ask that you do not visit any other patient after hours, or disturb the nurses." He paused, then added haughtily, "however, the nurses and I do have to perform a series of tests and routine exams on Miss Granger at the moment, and the two of you need to leave the room while we do so."

The immediate answer from Ron was one Harry could have predicted. 

"What kind of tests?  What for? Why can't we stay for them?" he demanded, his ears turning rapidly from pale peach to pink to red. Harry shook his head, partly in amusement at Ron's overprotective bit and partly at his own agreement with Ron's outburst to let them stay and know what was going on with their best friend. But he listened to his better judgment, and stopped Ron before he could get out of hand.  

"Ron," he said calmly, his voice belying his feelings to only his friend, who turned back from his glare at the doctor to look at Harry.  "Let's go.  We do have to let them do their jobs."  Ron glared briefly at Harry, before sighing.  

"'Aight mate," he stated, turning to Hermione to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.  He looked at her momentarily, eyes sad, and then went quickly out the door, pushing past the doctor and two nurses.  Harry shook his head again.  Ron had a temper like only a Weasley could, and Harry had wondered many a time before if Ron was the worst of that lot.  But then he had seen Ginny angry too many times for that.  She was bloody scary when she got mad.   

But Harry turned himself from those thoughts and gave a weak smile to the group before him, obviously astounded by Ron's rudeness.  He smiled to reassure them, or mainly just the nice nurse who had 'seen' why Harry and Ron were here.  He nodded quickly before heading out the door himself, emitting a small 'pardon me' as he past.  

He walked down the hall, now lit brightly by the windows that allowed the glorious Britain summer sun to pour through.  Harry found Ron around the corner, leaning against a wall, his head bent, eyes closed.  He approached slowly. 

"Hey mate," he called quietly.  

Ron did not look up, but Harry knew that he had heard him even before he had said anything.  It would have been an insult to their fine Defense training if he hadn't.  

"How're you holdin' up?" he asked softly, more a question to break the silence then anything.  He knew what Ron was going through.  He had known both Ron and Hermione long enough to read them instantaneously.  But he was also going through the same thing himself.  

Hermione was one third of the most important people in his life.  Seeing her in this state like this was horrifying, and he had the frustrating feeling of being helpless once again.  Harry hated feeling helpless, it was the worse feeling in the world, as far as he was concerned.  The accident, where he had been more helpless than ever before in his life— maybe excluding the time Voldemort had tried to kill him as an infant— did nothing to qualm his fear of helplessness.  If anything, it spurred it on, until he had recurring nightmares of that shadow coming down the hall of the train, and nothing Harry could do to stop him, and then the last person he had expected just appearing out of thin air to deliver his last message to who he thought was the Wizarding World's last hope, and taking the curse that had been meant for Harry.  

Harry snapped out of the day-nightmare, a choking sob just barely escaping his grasp.  He closed his eyes, not wanting Ron's comfort right then.  

Ron, for his part, seemed to understand, and nothing was said between the two teenagers until Ginny came running around the corner, slowing only when she spotted her boyfriend and her brother.  

"There you guys are," she stated, panting softly.  

"Has something happened?" Ron asked, finally speaking, a panicked look in his eyes.  But Ginny calmed his fears.  

"No.  Sorry for scaring you Ron, but Dad just wanted to know where you two had gotten to." She smiled softly, but Harry could tell it was strained. "We went back to the room a few minutes ago and it had a bunch of doctors in it and neither of you in sight." She sighed.  "He was worried," she added the last part softly.  

Harry, knowing well her sad tone, held his arm out to her, and she gratefully stepped up into Harry's embrace.  He held Ginny, and said nothing, as his best friend resumed his place leaning against the wall with his eyes shut.  

Harry shut his own eyes, and leaned against the opposite wall from Ron, the reassuring pressure of Ginny leaning against him.  He sighed, and put his head against Ginny's, burying his nose in her flaming red locks.  He always loved her scent, a mixture of herbs and fruits.  Usually, it calmed him, but now, he only felt horrible for his best friend across from him, whose own girlfriend was sitting in a hospital bed, and the knowledge that she might not wake up was haunting him.  

He paused for only a moment, and then let Ginny go, rubbing her back for a moment.  

"Hey Ron," he asked casually, stepping over to lean against the wall next to his friend. Ginny gave him a reassuring smile, and he continued. "Whaddya say we go down to the kitchens and see if we can scrounge up some food?"  

Ron looked at him for a moment, and then gave him a smile.  It was small, and haunted looking, but Harry was thankful for the gesture. 

"Sure mate, let's go."  Harry gave a small smile of his own, and started down the hall.  Ron followed, with Ginny behind them.  Harry, his heart heavy, made his way toward the hospital kitchens.  They actually had pretty good food here, at St. Mungo's, as Harry had learned in his short stay a few weeks before.  

Harry knew Hermione would be a long way in recovering, and Ron and himself as well, but, with hope, he thought, they would all make it.  They had to.  Because if his to best friends lost it, he would too, and the weight of the wizarding world now stood on his shoulders.  To loose that would mean doom for all.  

oo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00oo

AN: Please review.   All constructive criticism is welcome.  **_Please_**, _please_, please tell me what you thought.  That's how writers improve ya know! 

 See wasn't I nice!  No cliffy!!    You wont be so lucky in the future!!  *****Evil cackle***  ** 


	4. The Old and the Young

Weighted Down  
  
Chapter Four: The Old and the Young  
  
Harry, Ron and Ginny were just getting to talking about light things, like Quidditch and girls (or boys, in Ginny's case), when Arthur Weasley's head poked into the door of the large cafeteria and spotted the boys and Ginny. He came over quickly, face serious and intent. Harry spotted him when he was halfway across the room.  
  
"Boys," he started when he reached their table, "the doctors said they had finished, and you could go back to visit her."  
  
Harry looked at Ron quickly, both needing no words to know their thoughts. Harry nodded, and looked at Arthur for a moment. He had become sort of a paternal figure for Harry, part of a family, as all the Weasleys were for him. Despite that, he still had trouble getting what he needed to say out.  
  
"Er, Mr. Weasley, I actually needed to know something, preferably before we go back to Mio's room." Harry began slowly, not sure how to ask such a painful question for everyone.  
  
Arthur nodded, seeming to know the question coming, and sat next to Ginny, across from Harry and Ron.  
  
"Well," started Harry, not looking at anyone at the table, but instead at his bear claw that he had been eating. He took a deep breath, and plunged forward. "I want, no, I need to know what happened to Hermione."  
  
Arthur nodded, and looked down himself. No one at the table talked, or even so much as moved for half a minute.  
  
"Harry, I think. well, obviously you know her house was attacked by You- know-Who." Harry nodded; eyes locked with Arthur's, face solemn. "Well, early yesterday afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were at their home, along with Hermione. Evidence shows they were in the backyard, reading or talking or something." Arthur's voice shook, but he continued. "The Death Eaters attacked from all around. The trees around the house, over the fence, even from the sky, it seemed, on brooms, we think.  
  
"The Grangers and Hermione had the chance to get inside, but they didn't hold long. Death Eaters broke in eventually, through the doors and windows, even though Hermione spelled them. There were too many for just a young girl to deal with. I know she could have Apparated out, you all got your licenses a year ago," Harry nodded, remembering well the tests and paperwork it had taken to get the early licenses for the three of them.  
  
"She wouldn't though. She wouldn't leave her parents to die. A true Gryffindor." Harry knew this already. Hermione had proven she was sorted correctly many times before, and Harry knew she would have many more chances to prove herself. "The Death Eaters," Arthur continued, interrupting Harry's thoughts, "we think, killed Mr. Granger first."  
  
Harry griped the table in front of him. This did not sound good.  
  
"We believe Hermione fought against them, while they tortured her mother. Cruciatus." Arthur murmured the curse, and Harry's gaze on his bear claw went fuzzy, and he was holding the table so hard his fingers were turning white. "The evidence shows that Hermione could have been tortured, the doctors and Aurors are not sure." At this statement Ron let out a guttural growl, from deep within his chest. Harry didn't react; he simply tried to stare at his bear claw, holding for dear life to the table, as if it was a life preserver in a storm of horror.  
  
Ginny let out a small sob, then, that drew all of their attentions. She too, seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the table with her stare, but Harry could make out tracks of tears down her face. Harry reached under the table and found her hand, squeezing reassuringly. He then nodded at Arthur to continue.  
  
With a sigh, the older man complied. "The appearance of the attack seemed to be just murder, but with some fun on the Death Eater's part. The Ministry believes the Death Eaters had intended to kill all three victims."  
  
"Then what happened?" Ron asked, his voice pain filled.  
  
"Hermione fought, Ron," was the simple response from his father. "She fought with magic as well as fists, and she managed to get a few Death Eaters stunned before the Aurors arrived."  
  
Harry ripped his head up to stare at Arthur incredulously. "She stunned some?"  
  
Arthur nodded. "Two, and they were identified as young men, most likely new to You-know-Who's ranks." Harry nodded, knowing it would have been too good to believe if she had captured someone of great import. "But she was out before long. As soon as the officers Apparated, having gotten the signals of Dark Activity, namely the Avada Kedavra and Cruciatus, the Death Eaters Disapparated. The Aurors managed to get Hermione to, well, here, and get the Death Eaters that were stunned to Headquarters."  
  
Harry nodded once more, both horrified and comforted by Arthur's words. Horrified, because of what Hermione, and her parents, had gone through, and would Hermione would continue to go through when she woke up; and comforted, because he knew it could have been worse. Hermione could have been violated in worse ways than Cruciatus-and Harry knew the Death Eater scum would stoop to that level-or she could have been killed outright.  
  
But it didn't make sense, to Harry, anyway, why the Death Eaters hadn't just simply killed all three of the Grangers quickly. Unless Voldemort had wanted Harry to know his friend had suffered before she was killed. That was another thing. Usually, the Death Eaters managed to kill their victims, always before the Aurors got there. The Aurors would have had to be watching the Granger's residence before hand to have gotten wind of Dark Activity.  
  
The Auror unit, put to the true test this past month, monitored all of Britain from their Headquarters, watching little blips on screens that were spells being cast all day. When a Dark spell was cast in the area that they were watching at that moment, and the screen switched every minute to a different location, the blips on the screen turned red, and a small bell went off in the office, but it took a few precious minutes for Dark Activity to be noticed my the monitoring magic of the screen. All of this Harry knew from his various Defense lessons at school, both the regular classes that everyone attended, and the extra training that Harry and a few others had been receiving after hours since fifth year.  
  
But for the Aurors to have noticed Hermione's house under attack quick enough that the Death Eaters had time to only kill two, they had to have been watching the house closely. And they usually didn't observe specific areas that closely. There was simply too much of Britain to keep watch at a certain house at one time, even with the multiple screens and blips that the Auror Headquarters held. For the Aurors to notice Hermione's attack specifically, the odds that they had simply been on that screen at that particular time were very small.  
  
All of this information processes in Harry's mind in a second, and, coming to his conclusion, he looked up to stare at Mr. Weasley.  
  
"They knew," was all he said.  
  
Mr. Weasley quickly looked down at his shoes.  
  
"The Aurors knew she would get attacked at one point, and they didn't do anything!" Harry told Arthur, more than asked. He was aware that Ron, Ginny, and numerous other people in the Cafeteria were staring at him, but he didn't care at the moment.  
  
"Harry-" Arthur began, but Harry cit him off.  
  
"NO! They knew and they could have stopped it!" he felt a tight hand gripping his heart, and he knew he was yelling at Mr. Weasley, and he knew that it was not Mr. Weasley that was to blame, but his anger and frustration would not be contained now that he had gotten started.  
  
Mr. Weasley's next words however, contained that rage well enough.  
  
"She knew too, Harry," was all the older man said, before looking down with haunted eyes that were filled with the painful knowledge of a mistake.  
  
Harry starred at the man before him that he had come to love like a father. He realized for the first time that he was standing in the middle of a silent cafeteria, with people at other tables gaping at him and his outburst. He ignored them, however, and turned back to Arthur, face ashen.  
  
"She knew?" he asked, not wanting to believe it was true. Arthur's only response was to nod sadly.  
  
"Wait just a moment," a voice from Harry's left called out, standing next to his friend. Harry looked at Ron for a moment, before turning back to Ron's father.  
  
"Ron, Harry, please sit down," Arthur's weary voice got through to Harry, and he sat, not believing his ears for a moment. Ron however, looked ready to argue with his father heatedly, in public or not. Harry knew a disaster needed to be averted.  
  
"Sit down, Ron," Harry mumbled, without looking at his friend, his voice still disbelieving. Ron looked down at Harry, ready to argue, but seemingly thought the better of it, because he sat down hard next to Harry after a second.  
  
"Please, Dad, explain," Ron said tersely.  
  
"She did know," he reconfirmed, "and the Aurors, when they heard the rumor that her place was the next in line as a target, went down and asked her if she wanted to be moved to a more secure location. Hermione, after talking with her parents, refused. She told them, I think, that she wouldn't be scared out, or something to that effect. She said that they could watch the house for activity, and come to catch the Death Eaters when they attacked." Arthur sighed heavily.  
  
"They Aurors, well, you know them, always willing to make sacrifices to get the bastards. They agreed wholeheartedly. They let a sixteen year old girl take on the responsibility of bait." Arthur sounded disgusted with his own colleagues, and Harry knew he heard self-disgust in that voice somewhere.  
  
"But, you didn't know," Harry began, trying to comfort the old man.  
  
Arthur cut Harry off. "I did though," he said softly, looking at none of the three children around him. Harry could only stare blankly, not fully comprehending.  
  
"What?" Ginny said, surprising them all again. "Dad-"  
  
"I didn't know it was Hermione," Arthur cut her off, "but I did know of a family that was acting as bait. They told me it was a sure bet, they couldn't loose. I didn't know. I didn't know the circumstances, but I knew enough."  
  
Harry, knowing Arthur was battling with guilt and self-loathing, was silent.  
  
Ron, it seemed, however, could not help himself. "It's not your fault, Dad."  
  
Harry knew from experience this simple sentence meant nothing to Arthur, for it had been said to Harry many times throughout his short life, and none of them had been convincing. But something that one wise man had told him had helped.  
  
"We all make mistakes, Arthur. We can't help it; it's human nature. But guilt is a worthless feeling. It helps no one, and serves no purpose." Harry took a deep breath, and continued recklessly, trying hard to ignore the warnings his mind was shouting at him not to remember. "And, when times are really worth it, really, the ends sometimes do justify the means." He got up, ignoring the stares from Ginny and Ron-Ron in particular who knew who had spoken those words to Harry- and walked around the table to grab Arthur's shoulder reassuringly. The ministry official looked up quizzically at the young man above him.  
  
Arthur sighed, and gave Harry a sad smile. "Times are really ruthless when the old take counsel from the young, and the young are forced to grow so old, so very quickly."  
  
Harry was startled by his words, for just a moment, before masking his face back into a neutral expression. He nodded, emerald eyes much too intelligent, and walked away slowly, weaving through the growing crowd of people and the tables in the large cafeteria.  
  
Arthur was left with his two children staring after Harry, both knowing how their friend must feel after digging up those words from the painful memories of their old Headmaster.  
  
Ron was the first to collect himself, and turned to face his father. "He's right ya' know. Right too much of the bloody time if you ask me," Ron said, trying to lighten his father's heavy heart.  
  
It worked. His dad made no movement of expression, but Ron saw the small smile in his eyes. "Language Ron, language." Arthur slowly got up from the table, under the careful eye of both Ginny and Ron. "What would your mother say?" he asked his son, before patting his arm softly, and turning out of the cafeteria in the opposite direction from Harry.  
  
Ron and Ginny were left to stare at each other, each not fully believing what had just been told.  
  
  
  
  
  
oo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00oo  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry was just trying to process everything that Arthur had told him, and deal with the tidal wave of emotions that were brought up by that one quote, when he ran into two bulky blocks with flaming red hair. He looked up to grin weakly at Fred and George in front of him.  
  
"Hey! Watch it, mate!" George cried in mock outrage. (Harry could tell George by the large 'G' on his Weasley sweater that he was wearing that morning)  
  
"Yeah! Look where your goin' buddy!" Fred added, dramatically poking Harry in the chest with a finger.  
  
Harry smiled, slapped both boys on the shoulder, and continued walking, dragging the older Weasley's with him.  
  
"What's going on mates?" he asked jovially. "How's the infamous family business?"  
  
Both of the twins grinned slightly. Harry was no longer the only one who knew about Fred and George's dreams of a Joke Shop, but he was still well informed. They had graduated the year before last, and had began to put it into motion, working hard as interns and lackeys for a director at Zonko's, but, like everything else in the Wizarding World these days, it hadn't fared well.  
  
The public simply didn't have time for jokes. They were more concerned with things like surviving. But that had not curbed the two's interest in pranks and laughter. Harry knew for a fact that they had been behind many of the Ministry's more amusing pranks in the past few months, and had even helped with one or two a while ago. They had pulled a few harmless jokes on some of the Ministry Officials, using their clearance of visiting their father as a cover, and only once Harry's fame.  
  
A few including floating balloons filled with Canary Cream, turning random workers in the Ministry of Magic into large, feathered canaries at all hours of the workday. And then there was the time when the two had bribed a bunch of Leprechauns to dance jigs all day in the offices. It seemed only a form of poetic justice that the small green men happened to choose Ludo Bagman's office to ransack in their step dance.  
  
The Ministry chose not to officially acknowledge the pranks, and most of the workers actually got a laugh out of them, even the ones who ended up at the butt of the joke. It seemed to many to be an outlet for nervous laughter that was much needed in the world at the moment. Although, Harry knew, they had not pulled a joke in the past month. Times seemed too dire for even Fred a George to pull a prank.  
  
Harry shook his head from these thoughts though, as Fred laughed outright, and began telling Harry intimate details of their plans for their shop, their products, and their first victims when things settled down. The three wandered through the halls of the hospital, watching as the place bustled to life in the early morning hours. Harry wondered idly where they were and if Fred or George, who were leading Harry, knew where they were going. It became obvious, however, that they had absolutely no clue, when they stumbled into a dead-end in the back of one hallway.  
  
"Do you know where we are mate?" Fred asked Harry, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.  
  
George cracked up as Harry glared at Fred. "Fred!" he cried, angry in only appearance. All of them knew he was only putting on the flare of dramatics for laughter's sake. "You were the one leading!"  
  
"Correction, Mate," George said, fighting back more laughter. "I was leading. You had us confused again." Both twins grinned cheekily at the younger boy, and Harry just rolled his eyes and smiled.  
  
"So, while George was leading," Fred started, but George cut him off.  
  
"No, George, I'm Fred, and I was leading," the redhead looked at his twin with a glint in his eye, and they both began a familiar routine.  
  
"No, mate, I am Fred! You must be mistaken," one boy said, throwing out his arm in a display of Shakespearian dramatics.  
  
"Oh contraire, dear brother. I am Fred. It is you who are mistaken." Harry watched the two, his eyes traveling form one to the next as each declared themselves to be Fred diligently. Finally, he seemed to have had enough.  
  
With a laugh and a roll of his eyes, he turned away from the two, who were still arguing. "You're both nutters," he muttered, and headed off into what he hoped was the way to get back to the Disaster Ward and Hermione.  
  
"Wait, Harry!" both twins called after him, running to catch up. Harry didn't turn, but laughed to himself as they skidded to a stop on each side of him.  
  
"So, Fred, and Fred, do you have any idea where we're going?" he asked innocently, and received grins from both of the redheads.  
  
"I think we're going the wrong way to get back to Hermione's room," the Fred with the 'G' on his shirt said. Harry looked down the hall, trying to see anyone that could help them find their way. He only saw further halls and corridors.  
  
"I believe we goin this way," the other Fred stated, and started down another corridor that was better lit than the others.  
  
Harry and the Fred with the G on his shirt looked at each other for a moment and shrugged, then ran to catch up with Fred.  
  
"Wait, George!" the Fred with a G on his shirt cried out to his brother and Harry exclaimed.  
  
"Ah ha! You're the real Fred then?" Fred, or who Harry hoped was Fred, didn't stop, but he did make a face at the younger boy.  
  
"Good going, Fred," George called from up ahead, and Harry only smiled slightly and shook his head, following after the two bickering ahead of him.  
  
  
  
  
  
oo00ooOOoo00oo  
  
  
  
  
  
After leaving the cafeteria, Ron and Ginny made there way back to Hermione's room, using the directions from a doctor they had seen heading down the hall.  
  
When they arrived in front of the DW doors, they could hardly believe their eyes.  
  
The entire room was aflurry with action. All kinds of people were standing around, some injured, some unconscious, lying down, and some simply looking terrified. There were nurses running from bed to bed, shouts from every occupied space in the hall, and everyone seemed to be tense and a sense of fear hung in the room, palpable and horrifying to the two youngest Weasleys.  
  
Both hurried past the madness to the back room, where their friend had been a few hours before. Now the place was a menagerie. There were crying, screaming people, both doctors and nurses shouting and running around and Ron and Ginny simply stared, not sure what was going on or what they should do.  
  
Ron finally ended their stupor by dashing out of the middle of the corridor and pulling Ginny by the elbow with him. They were narrowly missed by a gurney pulled by several doctors who blocked the view of the patient on the bed. Ron was somewhat glad for that, and turned away from all of the madness to what had been Hermione's room this morning.  
  
Now there were four beds in the room, with at least two people surrounding the bed shouting either directions at nurses, or help from others. Ron could not find Hermione anywhere in the chaos.  
  
That Weasley panic and anger began to stir in him, and as his ears began turning a pale shade of pink, he headed towards one of the doctors that was sitting down and didn't look busy.  
  
"Excuse me," he said, somewhat rudely, he knew, but didn't care at the moment.  
  
The doctor looked up startled, taking in a fuming Ron and a pale-looking Ginny behind him. "The waiting room is on the other side of the hospital. Whomever you're here for, they'll have been taken care of."  
  
Ron noticed that the doctor looked haggard, and realized somewhat guiltily that this was probably the only break the poor bloke had had in a while. Still, he was between him and Hermione.  
  
"No, I didn't come here with anyone. There was a girl in this room a few hours ago, I want to know where she went."  
  
The doctor looked confused. "If she's not here now and she was before than she's been moved somewhere," the doctor told them simply, and stood from his makeshift seat of what Ron saw was a large box of hospital gloves. The man began headed for one of the tables, apparently ready to begin working again.  
  
"Wait a minute!" Ron called, following the doctor.  
  
"Look kid," the doctor began, annoyed, as he turned to face Ron. "Wherever your girlfriend went, I don't know. All I know is that this attack was one of the biggest, and I don't have time for your stupid games." The doctor glared at the two Weasleys for a moment before started back to a queue of nurses in the corner.  
  
Ron glared at the doctor's back and opened his mouth to say something to Ginny next to him.  
  
"He said 'attack'," Ginny stated, beating her brother to it. This simple sentence seemed to subdue Ron for a moment.  
  
"Yeah, well, I still need to know where Hermione is!" Ron looked slightly panicked at his sister, and she put a calm hand on his shoulder.  
  
"The hospital is not going to throw her down a hole Ron." She matched her brother's look glare for glare. "They just moved her. We only need to ask someone who would actually know, like one of the nurses who kicked you out this morning."  
  
Ron looked relieved. Ginny bit back a smile at how protective her brother was of his girlfriend. Though, in retrospect, she couldn't blame him. After hearing what she had been through just a few minutes ago, Ron was probably ready to go and take on Death Eaters by himself he was so irate. Ginny also knew that he really shouldn't direct that (sometimes violent) anger on any hospital staff that was just trying to do their job.  
  
Ginny seemed calm enough though. She led Ron through the corridor until he spotted one of the nurses who had been in Hermione's room that morning.  
  
"Excuse me," Ginny said to the young girl politely, when she had finished with a patient with a head injury. The young nurse looked worn, but turned to face them with a smile. "I had a friend who was here this morning, in a room in back. I was wondering where she would be now," Ginny smiled at the nurse, who couldn't be any older than nineteen or twenty.  
  
"Anyone in DW this morning was either scrunched in with all these people, or moved to Third Floor Recovery."  
  
"Thank you so much," Ginny told the nurse. "You must be exhausted," she told the girl, who nodded vigorously, sighing. "Could you tell me what happened here?" Ginny asked, moving out of the way of a few doctors running through.  
  
"What else, but You-Know-Who?" The nurse looked sad for a moment, but someone called her name across the hall, and she excused herself from Ginny and Ron and ran to get back to work.  
  
Ron looked at Ginny resolutely, and made their way out of the Disaster Ward, trying not to look at the numerous patients with injuries and pain filled stares. 


End file.
